


come over, I need you

by kagome_angel



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Language, M/M, Sexual Tension, Some Sap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-10-10 11:34:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10436760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kagome_angel/pseuds/kagome_angel
Summary: Yata might not be a genius like Fushimi, but he knows how to get a message across.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This idea bugged me for weeks.

_I need to see you._ The text is innocent enough, but the moment he reads it, Yata’s heart flutters and he swears it skips a beat altogether. His breath catches just for an instant, but he wastes no time with his reply: _So come over and see me._ The fact that his fingers are trembling slightly belies his casual response. If Fushimi could see him right now, the bastard would be smirking, all self-satisfied and shit.

(And Yata would love it, even though he’d never admit it.)

_Where?_ Fushimi asks him, and he replies, _HOMRA_ , just as Kamamoto drapes himself lazily over Yata’s shoulder and asks, “Hot date tonight, huh?”

It makes Yata blush and scowl all at once, and he shrugs both the question and the man off, wishing for a moment that he’d chosen to tell Fushimi something else, somewhere else, _anywhere_ else, but then his screen is blinking at him again and Fushimi’s answering text is: _Be there in half an hour._

He’s there sooner than that, in typical Saruhiko fashion, ten minutes early because he’s a stickler for shit like that. He enters the bar and Yata’s gaze is drawn to him immediately. He notices that Fushimi doesn’t bristle or appear as wary as he used to when he initially began paying Yata visits here, after the fall-out and subsequent reconciliation that had taken place not nearly as soon as it ought to have. 

That isn’t what’s important, though. Neither of them can turn back the clock; they can only move forward, and at least they’re finally doing it _right_ , now.

Fushimi approaches him, and Yata leans back against the bar, his eyes tracking every motion. He’s always been observant, though in a way that he supposes is different from Fushimi’s scrutinous, inquisitive nature. He’s always been attentive, he supposes he should say, of anything that had involved that stupid monkey, except, of course, when Fushimi had deliberately kept him in the dark about certain things (which he’d done quite regularly, although given that they’d drawn a line in the sand after Fushimi had joined Scepter 4, it’s not like Yata should have expected anything any different). 

(Maybe the line’s still there, somewhere, but it’s been blurred, and Yata has every intention of blurring it further—the issue here will be how to actually convey that to Fushimi somehow, without making a complete ass of himself.)

The others make themselves scarce, and Misaki is grateful for Kamamoto’s and Kusanagi’s consideration, although he’s sure he’ll get shit from both of them for it later. However, he’ll cross that bridge when he gets to it, and presently, all he prefers to focus on is what’s directly in front of him.

Fushimi stands before him, shifting from one foot to the other. His eyes meet Yata’s. “So, there’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you,” he begins, and then looks away, and something suspiciously like anxiety begins clawing through Yata’s brain, making its presence known. 

Misaki chews at his bottom lip and swallows, not sure of where Fushimi is going with this. He’s hard to read right now, all business and determination, and Yata wants to touch him, to make him disheveled and speechless; he wants to dispel the panic that’s suddenly trying to eat at him, and he wants to tell Fushimi to stop looking so damned serious.

He doesn’t. He answers with: “There’s something I want to talk to you about too, but since you’re the one that said you needed to see me, I suppose it’s only fair that you tell me what’s on your mind first, huh?”

The corners of Saruhiko’s lips curve upwards in the hint of a smile and it makes Yata relax a little. “You and I have never played terribly fair, Misaki,” he points out, and Yata shrugs.

“Maybe not,” he concedes, “but I’ll indulge you for a minute.”

Fushimi rolls his eyes, sighs, and then clears his throat. “You’re going to think this is stupid.”

Yata snorts. “So what if I do? When has that ever mattered to you, Saru—”

He abruptly cuts himself off when he notices the look in Fushimi’s eyes has changed—this clearly is not the time for their usual banter. He clams up and looks to the side, feeling silly and sheepish and nothing like a grownup at all.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, and then says it again, louder, when he manages to meet Fushimi’s gaze once more. The atmosphere is heavy around them, between them, and Saruhiko appears equal parts determined and vulnerable. Yata’s not sure he’s ever looked quite like this, before. 

Fushimi quirks an eyebrow, seemingly mildly surprised by Misaki’s apology. “I’m used to that mouth of yours by now,” he says, and well, doesn’t that just send Yata’s brain in a direction that Fushimi more than likely wasn’t intending, though judging by the smirk playing on his lips, he could’ve meant it the very same way that Misaki’s distracted, preoccupied mind has decided to go with it. 

Yata hates that he’s blushing. “Yeah, but you’re being serious, and there’s me, and… just spit it out, Saru.”

More shuffling, more glancing at the floor, the bar, the stools, anything but Yata’s face. “I never did thank you… for what you did back then.”

“Huh?” Well, this isn’t at all what Yata was expecting… not to say that he was exactly _expecting_ anything at all… _hoping_ , perhaps, but either way, this is something that he’s not following. “For… what?”

Fushimi looks at him then, and he’s scowling. “I really do have to spell it out for you, huh?”

Yata grunts and glares at him. “What did I just tell you? Spit it out, right? So _explain_.”

Fushimi’s sigh is long-suffering. “Sometimes I think you pretend to be this obtuse just to aggravate me.” He pauses, seeming to consider something for a moment (his words, his decision to come here, his reasons for even reuniting with Yata to begin with… Yata’s not sure what’s going on in that head of his, but he’s starting to feel somewhat uneasy again) before he continues, and when he does, it all comes out in one big rush: “You didn’t have to come for me, back then. When everything with Jungle was going down and you could have gotten yourself killed on a side-mission that you took on, on your own, just to make sure _I_ didn’t die, even though it would have been fine because I was following my leader’s orders. You weren’t following orders; you did what you always do, you idiotic asshole. You went off on your own to find me, and if you hadn’t, I honestly don’t know if anyone else would have gotten to me in time to secure an escape. And I never thanked you for that. So… thank you.”

Leave it to Saruhiko to say something that is simultaneously considerate _and_ insulting. Misaki supposes it wouldn’t really be _him_ , if he did something like this any other way. It isn’t like Fushimi to show gratitude or to talk much at all about anything he might or might not be feeling, but the fact that Fushimi is looking at him now with absolute sincerity makes anything he would have said go right out the window. It’s strange to think that something like this had been weighing on him and now he’s suddenly blurted it out months after the fact… no doubt, he hadn’t known how to go about saying what was on his mind, either. And yeah, Misaki can relate to that.

“I was doing what I wanted and needed to do at that time, Saru,” Yata finally manages to answer, and the look of relief and acceptance in Fushimi’s eyes is palpable. And damn it all, how is it that this man, who’d been a thorn in his side for some time, can reduce him to this—a dork with butterflies in his stomach and his heart in his throat?

Thing is, Misaki already knows the answer to that. He’s always known, really.

Fushimi doesn’t say anything else for a few seconds, nor does Yata. They stand there, looking at one another, and suddenly Yata feels there’s too much space between them. He needs proximity right now, needs the reassurance of his hands on Fushimi, needs to tell him what he’s been wanting to say now for… hell, he himself isn’t even sure how long these words have rattled around in his brain and wrapped around his heart and gotten stuck in his throat.

It’s Saruhiko who breaks the silence: “There’s… something you wanted to say too, right?”

Yata nods, suddenly a bundle of nerves, not really knowing where to begin, wondering if he should even bother to attempt an explanation. Then again, things like this don’t usually require any sort of preamble, and he’s damn good at just thoughtlessly blurting shit out, but this is important, and he doesn’t want it to be like that.

And suddenly, just like that, it clicks. “I think this will just go better if I show you, as opposed to attempting to tell you,” he tells Fushimi, words like _love_ and _want_ and _need_ flickering through his mind, but he doesn’t say them; he’ll do what he does best, and _act_.

Fushimi blinks at him, obviously not grasping at what’s going on, not understanding, and it makes Yata’s heart swell with affection.

“You know,” Yata begins by way of explanation, chuckling softly, “you spend so much damn time _thinking_ with that big brain of yours, Saru, that I guess your eyes completely miss what’s right in front of you.” He cringes a bit when he realizes how what he’s just said must sound and, not really wanting to sound like an uncaring asshole, he rapidly backpedals: “I mean, even though you’re a brilliant genius, there are times when you can be a complete idiot, you know?”

Okay, so maybe that didn’t sound any better, but Fushimi doesn’t look hurt or angry, thankfully. He does, however, appear to be perhaps a bit irritated and perplexed (Yata’s used to provoking him to the former, but the latter… now, that’s something new; he’s never seen Fushimi anything remotely related to puzzled before, and most definitely not because of something he’s said).

(Yata takes about two-point-six seconds to inwardly gloat and mentally congratulate himself on this feat.)

“What.” It’s not a question. Yata can practically _see_ the cogs turning in the other man’s head and he sighs, pushing himself away from the bar and stepping closer to Fushimi.

“Don’t think so much,” he murmurs, and then he takes one more step, closing the distance between them entirely by grabbing Fushimi’s collar and pulling him down into a kiss. It certainly isn’t the first time they’ve kissed, or the first time that Yata’s taken the initiative, but it’s different, somehow, in some indefinable way. 

Fushimi is motionless against him for half a second and then he gasps, and oh, yes, Yata _does_ take full advantage of it, letting his tongue slide past parted lips, and then Fushimi’s making a different sound altogether, and hell, so is Yata.

It’s a give-and-take that he’s familiar with now, with Saruhiko. But it’s different, just a little; the kiss is heated and there’s a jumble of emotions there, between the two of them. It would take a while to identify all of them, but what Yata feels most of all? The desire, and the love. He holds on to those two things, lets them float around in his mind, his heart, and he presses himself as close to Fushimi as he possibly can, fingers releasing the other man’s collar in favor of tangling in his hair instead.

Fushimi’s kissing him back, hard, pressing forward and forcing Yata to retreat backwards, but with his feet only. Yata feels his back hit the edge of the bar and he sighs against Fushimi’s mouth as Fushimi practically bends him back over the bar, following the curve of his body and the press of him, the _promise_ in the gesture is intoxicatingly erotic. The kiss remains unbroken even as Fushimi leans further into him, hands on either side of Yata’s body now, close but not quite touching. Yata wants those hands on him.

Kusanagi’s voice is loud and clear: “If you scratch my bar, I’ll kill both of you.”

Fushimi breaks away from him then, and he’s blushing just slightly. Yata can feel the heat rise in his own face, but what he focuses on is the fact that he’s never seen Fushimi blush before, and he looks pretty damn _good_ like this, all flustered and affected, his breathing a bit irregular and his eyes full of a different kind of flame; one that Misaki hasn’t had the opportunity to fully explore just yet.

He wants to kiss Saru again, Kusanagi’s threat be damned, but he doesn’t want to push his luck. 

“Get a room, you two.” Kusanagi, again. But this time, Yata can hear the amusement in his voice.

Lowering his lashes, he looks up at Fushimi and licks his lips. “Well?” he says expectantly, invitingly, _challengingly_. 

He can hear Fushimi’s breath catch, and it makes something low in his belly flutter. 

His genius doesn’t keep him waiting long; his response is low, deliciously dangerous: “Yes. Let’s do that.”

 

~END~


End file.
